No Sound but the Wind
by TokugawaSmile
Summary: We stopped checking for monsters under our bed because we realized they were inside of us. Grimmjow is a soldier on the run and Ichigo doesn't understand what he's getting into. Dark, yaoi, rape. On Hold.


_I don't own Bleach._

GrimmjowxIchigo. Any objections? No? Good. Minor pairings as well.  
There will be blood…haha. But really, blood, violence, homophobia, sex, rape, language, other nasty little things lurking on my imagination. Be warned now.

_Grimmjow is a soldier who stumbles upon a church looking for a place to rest and regroup. There he meets Ichigo, and finds there might be things worth protecting beside himself._

xxx

No Sound but the Wind

_**We stopped checking for monsters under our bed because we realized they were inside of us.**_

xxx

Grimmjow takes one look at the muddy streets of Karakura and spits, disgusted. Not at the city, not really. He's covered head to toe in dirt and grime and probably shit, there's scorched earth and destroyed crops all over other parts of the country, his own city, and this little piece of crap place is still completely untouched by the violent upheaval throughout Japan. His first thought is _ridiculous_.

Clenching his bloody fist around his rifle, he trudges on, hiding behind the shadows the houses as he sprints toward refuge. It's a dead night, no noise creating a disguise for his less than graceful movements, but that's just too damn bad. He was never one for taking his time and thinking over a situation. He doubts there are any real soldiers haunting around, anyway.

He looks around, analyzing the layout of the small city. The buildings are all old despite being intact and untouched by the war, and the look of the place is kind of eerie.

Grimmjow growls low in his throat, the gunshot wound in his arm positively singing with ache and pain and soon infection.

He needs to find someplace, both to dress his wound and think over his actions. He would never admit it, but panic was rising, keeping him on edge. If infection set in, amputation was a damn real possibility he just didn't want to think about it.

He darts through small houses looking half ready to just collapse and stops –freezes. The crisp sound of crunching leaves has the hair on the back of his neck standing.

_Shit. Shit shit shit. _

He reacts fast, spotting a little pile of brush and crouching low. He wills his breathing to stop, but he's practically panting with exertion.

His paranoia sets in when he realizes it's just a stray slinking out of the bush. The stupid animal is nearly as dark as the blanket of night, but Grimmjow makes out two large, almost questioning eyes. He snarls at the cat, promptly turning on his heel and sprinting off. He's wasting too much time with this shit.

So he clenches his jaw, rips off a piece of his ratty uniform and bandages his arm as tight as he can. The pain is still so overwhelming, but Grimmjow shakes it off and darts through the neighborhoods. After what seems like hours Grimmjow can perhaps finally breathe. There is what looks like an abandoned church right up ahead, half boarded up and the perfect place to rest. Who would look for him in a church of all places?

No, Aizen will not think of that. And if he does, Grimmjow will make sure he's long gone.

Not all of the first floor windows are boarded up, so Grimmjow takes the butt of his rifle and gently taps the already fragile glass. It shatters. Careful of his injury, he jumps over the sill, immediately aiming the jammed pistol. It's useless but intimidating if needed.

The church is empty.

He lets out a breath he didn't think he was holding.

Fuck.

Like a robot he goes through the motions of securing the perimeter. He checks the crumbling pews and various little rooms. Nothing but dust. Grimmjow's next order of business is his arm that's spewing blood, the scrape of rag not doing much to stall the bleeding.

He takes a broken chair and sits down, letting out a heavy sigh in the process and gracefully takes out his knife, flicking it open. The sharp blade glints in the little moonlight shoved in the cracks of what's left of the windows.

"Fuck my life."

His coat off, he eyes the dirt and blood covering his arm, tracing a line all the way up to the bullet imbedded. With nails biting into his hand, he takes his knife and slices through his flesh, hissing in undeniable pain. He tries to be accurate, but it's hard. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes, but they don't fall.

Finally, after another excruciating few minutes, he digs out the bullet covered in blood and flecks of his skin, nearly gagging.

All Grimmjow can manage is to wrap it up with the remains of his jacket before succumbing to fatigue.

Xxx

The light is wickedly bright. Like a branding iron has been placed over his face. Blue eyes open, Grimmjow's body jerking up and awake.

He sighs as he surveys his surroundings. Still in the old church, but now it's morning. Dangerous.

Flicking his eyes to his arm, he notes with a sigh of relief the blood has clotted. Hopefully it will not get infected, but Grimmjow has never been particularly lucky. A growl sticks to the inside of his throat when he sends a glance at the row of pews.

There is a boy standing between the window Grimmjow had smashed last night and a crushed row of pews. He stares Grimmjow down, unconcerned with the fierce glare Grimmjow is giving him.

There is something completely animalistic that crawls in Grimmjow's stomach. He's sure he looks weak in this position, his arm hanging uselessly at his side and his gun lying a few inches behind him, but he doesn't give a shit, he knows he can rip this kid's throat out with two fingers and his teeth.

The boy speaks first.

"Who are –"

"Fuck off," Grimmjow hisses, slowly rising from his crouched position on the dirty wooden floor. "Don't worry who I am, get the fuck out before I plant a bullet between your eyes."

The boy ignores his rage, like some dumb lamb going to slaughter. Grimmjow wants to laugh. He just stops short when the boy speaks, liquid brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You're part of the Japanese army, you're trespassing, and you're arm is wounded. I don't think you're in a position to be telling me anything. And you won't be shooting me with a jammed gun, don't think I didn't check. Asshole."

Grimmjow snarls, fists clenched tightly by his side. It takes all of his willpower not to strike out and wring the little bastard's neck. And then he smirks, throwing back his head of obnoxious blue hair and letting out a bark of laughter.

"Smart, kid. What's your name?"

There is a scowl in his direction, but the boy isn't quite meeting his eyes. "Ichigo. That's all you're getting. Now tell me what you're doing here in my mother's church."

Grimmjow rolls the information around in his fucked up head. The boy owns this piece of crap? "Where's your mother?"

"Dead."

Silence.

Thinking is not Grimmjow's best quality. He's not sure if lying or telling the truth to smooth over the situation is the best way to go. He can always go with snapping the boy's neck, but the city would be in an uproar. Ichigo, standing there with wildflowers clutched in one hand and a less than threatening stick in the other, regards him cautiously as he thinks over his next move.

Grimmjow decides on ignoring this stupid boy, inching back to his gun and grasping it in his good hand before turning toward the window he busted out.

"Wait," Ichigo murmurs, "you need treatment."

"The fuck would you know? You a doctor or something kid?" Grimmjow doesn't look at him, choosing instead to glare at his useless arm still aching and throbbing and fucking _useless_. A growl tumbles out of his lips and he whips around, the bubble of frustration and annoyance finally exploding. "I was just gonna leave, but now I think I'll stay a while and play."

Ichigo's glare is acidic. He throws down the flowers, Grimmjow's eyes watching as then fall, and pitches the stick behind him. "Fuck you; I'll drag you to the clinic if I have to."

Grimmjow's face lights up, almost sadistically. There is enough shadow to cover his eyes, giving him a deranged look. "I only need one arm, so don't hold back, bitch." And then he sprints, not expecting the other boy to block his throw, but Ichigo does, and retaliates with a well placed kick to his side, leaving him gritting his teeth at the pain and pulling back.

"So you're not all bark, eh?" He spits at the old wood, wiping his mouth and getting back into his stance. Ichigo snarls at him, "Don't you put that shit on the floor!"

They go at it again until they're rolling around, fists and legs moving in a fury. Grimmjow nails Ichigo's head with his knee, smirking triumphantly when Ichigo hisses through his teeth, but then Grimmjow is thrown off of the boy, landing on the ground beside him. He looks up into Ichigo's face, seeing the raised fist.

He braces himself.

Everything is dark.

Xxx

Grimmjow wakes up the complete opposite to how he did this morning. There is no light, only the blanket of complete shadow. He jolts up in the bed, frowning and studying his surroundings.

The boy must have brought him here. He notices his shirt has been abducted, his arm bandaged carefully and some of his lesser wounds treated. The insufferable ache is gone. He runs a hand through his sweaty blue hair, irritated and grateful at the same time. He knows he was being stubborn, but he has learned never to trust lambs.

The door creaks open and the boy stands there in pajama pants, holding a glass of water.

Grimmjow decides to begin his interrogation. "Where am I?"

Ichigo places the glass on the bedside table gingerly before sitting in the lone chair by his bed. He frowns at Grimmjow's question. "My father's clinic. It's across from the church. I dragged you here after you passed out."

For a reason Grimmjow cannot discern, Ichigo blushes and looks away. "You want a clean shirt? Your uniform was filthy, but I didn't have any pants that would fit you."

With a smirk curving his lips, Grimmjow sits up to analyze the other's face. And then he looks down at his chest. Muscled and possibly attractive to others, but not to him. He is scarred and damaged. There is a multitude of scars and bruises from warfare and running all night blindly. From Aizen's elite trying to stop him from defecting. The joke he was about to make is lodged in his throat, never to escape. This kid, he doesn't know what he would be getting into. And Grimmjow doesn't swing for prepubescent boys, anyway.

"Yeah," is his short answer. His uniform is useless anyway. It only helps that he doesn't have it anymore. The representation of his failure, of his hatred.

Ichigo bolts from the room like it's on fire.

Grimmjow wishes it was.

Xxx

Three hours later and Grimmjow is ready to leave. He doesn't want to be responsible for this boy and his family. He's rested, his arm is somewhat better, and he fixed his gun, but doesn't have any bullets, still. The shirt Ichigo secured for him is tight and constricting, though when he thinks about it, probably better. Tight clothing means easier maneuvering.

He gets to the front door of the small clinic before Ichigo realizes he's gone from the medical room. Just as he's unlocking the door, there is a hand on his back, nearly startling him. Fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. "Don't be a thief. And don't leave, you need to rest and let the wound heal. I don't know what's after you, but… you can stay here."

Grimmjow shakes his head, turning around and brushing the boy off. He lets a malicious smirk slither to his face. "What the fuck is wrong with you, kid? You don't know who you're housing. All you think you're doing is helping some poor, unfortunate soldier. Well, I don't need your help. I don't need you fucking _pity_. What I need is to get out of here."

He watches Ichigo's face fall, though the boy tries to hide it. Grimmjow sneers at him, only feeling slightly guilty for what he is about to say.

"You little faggot, you think I didn't notice?" Ichigo gasps like he's drowning at the harsh sounding accusation.

Grimmjow continues, jamming his finger in the boy's face. "Get it? I don't fuck men. And I sure as hell don't fuck children. You're lucky I let you touch me. Fucking cocksucker."

Ichigo is rooted to the spot, brown eyes seeping fury and confusion and humiliation, and Grimmjow uses that to his advantage and leaves.

He forces himself not to look back and regret his decision.

xxx

I'm making a fst for anyone who cares. As I go along with the chapters, I'll post a song or two accordingly. Not sure if it's going be on my profile or not or at the end of the fic. The song for this chapter is: Where I End and You Begin by Radiohead. Feel free to suggest a beginning song for this chapter. It was hard, surprisingly.

Tie between Radiohead and the Sailor Moon theme song. No, really.

I'll also clarify more about Grimmjow and what time period this is, and such. Maybe.

Review please? :)


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